


Maybe The Last Time

by Limestone_and_Hemlock



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Brief mention of possible suicidal ideation, Crack, Cunnilingus, Drinking, F/M, Grieving, In the sense that it doesn't directly contradict anything that happened in canon, Kissing, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, guilty feelings, sex for solace, technically canon compliant?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28986909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limestone_and_Hemlock/pseuds/Limestone_and_Hemlock
Summary: Michael and Liz drown their sorrows and console each other after Max's death. Post-Season-1, pre-Season-2.
Relationships: Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin (mentioned), Michael Guerin/Alex Manes (mentioned), Michael Guerin/Liz Ortecho
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: 
> 
> Michael and Liz kiss while they are both conscious and consenting, but also drunk and grieving. 
> 
> Michael worries he has crossed a line, due to Liz's drunkenness and grief.
> 
> They do not have sex while drunk. (They are probly definitely gonna have sex after they are sober, though.)
> 
> References to Alex and Michael having sex while drunk.

Michael had several bottles of moonshine hidden in strategic places around town. Two weeks after Max died, his supply was severely diminished. He sat on his bed, drinking straight from the bottle, wondering what he’d do when he ran out. The guy he usually bought from was ten months into a three-year sentence, and Michael was going to need to restock significantly sooner than that.

He guessed could go back to the Pony when the bathtub gin ran dry. But the Pony meant seeing Maria, and possibly Alex too. Max’s absence already had Michael teetering on the brink. He felt like he’d fly into a million pieces if he had to confront all the ways he’d let Maria and Alex down.

Kissing Maria had felt like hope, and possibility. Like maybe he could finally be brave enough to love someone without the crawling-over-glass, walking-through-fire histrionics that usually accompanied love for him. And then he’d spent two weeks ignoring her calls until she stopped calling. Killing the possibility of anything good in his life before it even started, just like he always did.

And Alex. Alex, who Michael had loved since childhood, whose touch had always made Michael feel more vulnerable and more safe than he could ever remember feeling. They’d never belonged to each other. Not really. Not in the way that Michael had always hoped and ached for when Alex’s hands were on him. But he was used to having at least the possibility of Alex. The promise of what they could be, maybe, someday, in a better and brighter future. But the last time they’d spoken had the weight of finality. It felt like Michael had closed the book on Alex without even realizing what he was doing.

So Michael sat alone, feeling the deep, dark, freezing void in the pit of his stomach. It felt like the void he and his family had been flung out of when they landed on this fucking forsaken planet. What had they been running from? Had it really been any worse than what they’d found here?

In the absence of answers, comfort, or hope, Michael took another drink. The sound of frantic knocking at the door exploded into his consciousness, making him jump and drop the bottle. It landed on the floor without shattering, thankfully. The knock didn’t sound like Alex or Maria. Izzy, maybe? Whoever was at the door, it was definitely an emergency-knock.

It was Liz, which surprised him. He and Liz had never been particularly close, even when they were doing secret science together to save Izzy. What surprised him more was how frazzled she looked, with smudged mascara and hair coming out of its French twist. He was used to seeing Elizabeth Ortecho, PhD, looking polished and professional.

“Hi?” He said as Liz stepped inside without being asked. “Is everything okay?”

It was a stupid question, and Liz ignored it. Nothing was okay, because Max was dead. But there was nothing either of them could do about that.

“Nice place,” Liz said, glancing around his home. All 140 square feet of it.

“It’s a shithole and you know it,” Michael said. “Where’s Rosa?”

“At a motel with the blinds closed,” Liz said. “I ordered pizza, and she promised not to leave. Or drink.”

That didn’t sound like the best plan for a twenty-year-old recently-resurrected recovering alcoholic, but who was Michael to judge?

“So what are you doing here?” He asked when Liz didn’t say anything else.

She crossed her arms, looking defensive before she even spoke. “I was planning to go to the Pony and do vodka shots until I passed out, but I was hoping for something a little stronger.”

“Stronger than vodka shots?” Michael asked. “No offense, Liz, but you weren’t known for your ability to hold your liquor back in high school. You puked on Izzy’s shoes at Tess’s Junior Prom afterparty.”

Liz lifted her chin. “I’ve done ten years of drinking since then,” she said. “And word on the street is you have the last of Garrett Wyland’s moonshine.”

Michael lifted his eyebrows incredulously. “‘Word on the street’?”

“Alex told me.”

“Of course he did.” There had been nights, good ones, where he and Alex had dipped into his stash and fallen into bed together, laughing and naked and drunk.

“Well?” Liz said, taking a step closer.

They sat on the edge of Michael’s bed, because it was the only place to sit, and passed the bottle back and forth like they were teenagers playing “Never Have I Ever.” Except they did it in silence, and Liz already knew all of his dirty secrets. Like how he’d fucked both of her closest friends. And how he hated her high school boyfriend. And how he covered up Rosa’s murder when they were teenagers.

“You know you kind of look like him sometimes,” Liz said, leaning back and squinting as she let the empty bottle clatter to the ground.

“Like Max?” Michael asked. He was very sure that he didn’t look even a little bit like Max, but he didn’t want to contradict Liz in case this was part of her grieving process.

“Maybe not,” Liz said, with a dry attempt at a laugh. “I’m probly just seeing double.”

And then, sudden as a dam breaking, Liz was sobbing, face against Michael’s dirty shirt. He put his arms around her, shocked and awkward, but then relaxing into it, tightening his embrace as she collapsed against him.

They stayed like that for a long time. Liz's tears soaked through Michael’s shirt, leaving a huge, sodden patch. Michael started crying too, silently, tears dripping onto the top of her head and soaking into her hair. They held onto each other until Liz’s heartbroken sobs quieted and the last of the tremors in her arms and chest stopped.

She looked up at him. Her face was red-eyed and chaotic and beautiful. Then she leaned in a couple inches and kissed him, hard and desperate. He kissed her back, greedy and impulsive, and wrapped his arms around her warm, pliant waist to pull her into his lap. He wasn’t sure how long they kissed, just that it was a pure, aching, wonderful relief to feel her tongue in his mouth, and the sting of her teeth against his bottom lip. Their hips moved in tandem, desperately pushing against each other through the denim and zippers and rivets of their jeans.

“Shit!” Michael said, breaking the kiss as Liz’s hands slid under his shirt. He stood up, spilling her off his lap and onto the mattress in the process. “Jesus, Liz, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He fell silent as she gave him a withering look. “ _I_ kissed _you_ , Mikey,” she said. “And I’m not some rhinestone-wearing tourist whose knees start to quiver as soon as soon as you lay on the rough-and-tumble cowboy charm. So you can stop worrying that you took advantage of my drunken grief. I’m a grown woman, and I know what I’m doing.”

As if to prove it, she stood and kissed him again, brief and sweet. He gasped as the back of her knuckles brushed across the bulge in his jeans. She smiled and patted his chest in a mildly condescending way. “I should get going,” she said.

“You’re okay to drive?” He asked.

“I’ll get a lyft,” she said. "I can get my car in the morning."

They went outside to wait. A good way to avoid the temptation to do what they’d almost just done. Plus it was about forty-five degrees out, thanks to a late-September cold snap, which would hopefully get rid of his surprisingly persistent erection.

The car eventually arrived. Liz wavered as she stood. Michael caught her elbow to steady her, which probly wasn’t much help because he was drunker than she was.

She looked at him. “So we should probly….”

“Never speak of this to anyone?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I think that’d be best.”

He opened the car door for her, which made her roll her eyes, but she climbed in anyway. 

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I will,” she promised, with that gentle, sweet smile of hers. God, she really was beautiful.

He closed the door and watched the taillights of the car receding down the highway until they disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz comes back to finish what she and Michael started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings:
> 
> Grief/Loss
> 
> Mentions of sex partners being rough/scary with Michael when he was eighteen
> 
> One line kinda-sorta hints at suicidal ideation (specifically the idea/possibility of "dying of a broken heart")

Michael woke up feeling woozy and headachy. He reached for the bottle of acetone he kept by the bed.

He was making coffee, barefoot in last night’s jeans, when the door flew open. He jumped, and saw Liz, limned with pale, early-morning light. “Fuck,” he said. “Wanna try knocking, Liz?”

“Are my car keys here?” She asked, ignoring his question. “My car’s outside, so I lost them at some point between when I got here and when I got home.”

Michael shrugged. “I haven’t seen them. If you wanna look around, be my guest.”

He made himself avert his eyes as Liz got on her hands and knees to look under his bed. She was dressed in a pencil skirt, shell top, and heels, with a shade of red lipstick that made him want things that he’d spent all of last night trying not to want. He imagined lifting her onto the table and pushing her skirt up to her waist while she wrapped her legs around him and…

“Found them!” she said, standing triumphantly with her keys dangling from her finger. A few strands of hair escaped from her prim ballerina bun.

“Why are you dressed this fancy at six in the morning, anyway?” Michael asked as she zipped her keys safely into her purse.

“I have a job interview,” she said. “For a research position at Stanford.”

“You’re moving to California,” Michael said, hand frozen halfway to picking up the jar of instant coffee.

“If I get the job,” Liz said with a falsely modest shrug. Of course she would get the job, and then she would leave, and he and Izzy would get on with their lives as best as they could without Max. And it would all be for the best. Right?

“Congratulations,” he said to her, trying to sound like he meant it.

“What it is?” She asked, giving him an incisive look that made him feel like she saw a lot more than he wanted her to see.

So he gave her a sardonic little smile and said, “Nothing. You just look hot is all.”

Her expression went from disappointment at his refusal to engage to determination as she stepped closer. This close, he could smell the floral shampoo on her shower-damp hair. And he wanted, so badly, to grab her around the waist and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. He swallowed hard and kept his hands at his sides as she looked up at him, body achingly close to his.

“Do I?” She murmured, mouth close to his. “Does it make you want to touch me, Michael?” She pressed up against him as she said it, letting him feel her body through the slippery-soft material of her blouse. He swallowed, knowing she could feel his painfully hard cock against the taut plane of her belly, through the uncomfortably rough denim of his jeans. “Do you want to throw me down on your bed and make me melt and beg?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck as she spoke and tugged his head down to kiss him. And finally, _finally_ , he gave in to what he’d been wanting to do since she walked in the door and wrapped an arm around her waist to kiss her back. They lost their balance and staggered a few steps to stay upright. She reached back and tore the hair elastic out of her bun, sending her hair cascading down her back and scattering bobby pins across the floor.

They were both gasping when they finally broke apart. Liz looked up at Michael. She put her fingertips against his bare chest, hardly exerting any pressure, but he went stumbling back like she’d shoved him until his ass was against the countertop.

“Tell me you want this,” she said, flattening her hand against his chest so his heart thudded against her palm.

He put his hand over hers and guided it down his torso, over the contours of his stomach, to press her palm against the swell of his erection. “I want it,” he said, body slipping down the counter as he rocked his hips forward.

She looked up at him for a few seconds, fingers spreading over the front of his jeans as a flush travelled over her sternum and up her neck. Then she murmured something that sounded like _oh, fuck it_ , stepped out of her shoes, and went to her knees right there on the floor. Michael choked, and then swallowed hard as she unbuckled his belt. (The big showoff cowboy belt buckle seemed kind of gaudy and embarrassing at this particular moment.)

She looked up at him as she unzipped his jeans and yanked them down over his hips. And then-- _fuck_ \--his cock was in her hand, so close to her parted lips that he could feel her breath. He could’ve come right then and there, and he tightened his grip on the edge of the counter and tipped his head toward the ceiling to keep it at bay.

“So you really don’t wear underwear,” she observed, letting him feel every word against the swollen, sensitive head of his cock.

“I do too,” he choked out through the taut tendons and muscles in his neck. “You just came barging in here when I was barely-- _oh fuck_.” His voice broke, an embarrassing little breathy squeak, as she took him into her mouth.

His torso flooded with sensation as Liz used her lips, and her tongue, and her throat, and he reached out, tentatively, to stroke her hair with one hand. He talked to her, slowly at first and then faster: “Oh fuck, Liz, you’re so beautiful, you’re so smart, you’re so _fucking_ sexy, Jesus I love your perfect fucking mouth…”

Liz made noises while she sucked him, soft little moans that he felt more than heard, until his knees nearly gave out and he was perilously close to coming down her throat. “Stop,” he gasped. “Stand up.” 

She pulled back, and climbed to her feet, pupils huge and lips full and flushed even though most of her lipstick had come off while she sucked his dick. He kissed her, hard and open-mouthed, pulling her against him and tasting himself on your tongue. She melted in his arms, warm and soft against him as he murmured into her neck: “I want to strip you naked and eat your pussy until you’re coming so hard that all you can think about is my tongue between your legs.”

“Good.” She kissed him again. “Do that.”

He undressed her right there, fast and frantic. Her blouse and bra landed on the floor; he heard something rip as he struggled with the tiny zipper at the back of her skirt.

She helped him get the skirt off and stood there for a second in nothing but her panties, looking slightly shy. Then she jumped into his arms, literally. He caught her and held her, fumbling a condom out of the drawer under the hot plate before carrying her over to the mattress and dropping her on her back.

He shucked off his jeans and stood there, just for a few seconds, looking at her.

“What is it?” She asked as he stared.

“Nothing,” he said, trailing his fingertips up the outside of her thigh. “You’re just really fucking beautiful.”

“I know,” she said. Then she tilted her head coquettishly, and hooked her bare foot around the back of his knee. “Now less talking, more…”

She laughed as he climbed on top of her and kissed her, swallowing the last word of the sentence. She squirmed and arched her back when he moved down her chest to suck on her hard nipples, teasing her with his teeth and his tongue.

“Fuck, I’m a terrible friend,” she said, fingers tightening in his hair as he kissed the warm skin of her lower belly.

“And I’m a terrible ex,” he said, as he took her panties off and tossed them on the floor. He lowered his head and tasted her clit for one lingering moment. She gasped, hips coming off the bed, chasing his mouth as he pulled back. She looked like she was on the verge of begging. He gave her a filthy grin. “You wanna stop?”

As an answer, she clenched her soft, manicured, surprisingly strong fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck and urged him down again, pushing her cunt against his mouth. He licked into her eagerly, almost frantically. The heat and wetness and smell and taste of her sent a wave of desire coursing through him, washing everything else away.

Liz was loud when she came, screaming and shaking, fingers clenching so hard she accidentally pulled some of his hair out. He kept going after she finished coming, grinning at the sound of her little sobbing gasps and her _Michael I wanted this so much_ until she came again, clit hot and pulsing against his tongue, legs tight around his neck.

“Jesus fuck, come up here,” she said after her thighs went limp and relaxed.

He crawled back up her body until his lips were near hers. She tipped her chin up for a kiss, but he held his mouth out of reach. “Do you want to taste yourself in my mouth, Liz?” He asked, stroking her hair.

“Yes,” she whispered, cheeks warming with a charming blush.

“I should’ve known,” he growled, and kissed her, letting her feel the roughness of his unshaven chin.

“Should’ve known what?” She panted when he broke the kiss.

“Should’ve known that pretty, perfect Liz likes it dirty,” he grinned at her. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

“You’re a cad,” she said, giving him a playful shove. She wound her legs around his, keeping him close, and kissed him again.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asked, the taste of her cunt lingering on his tongue.

“Yes please,” she whispered.

He sat back on his heels, between her legs, to get the condom from where he’d left it on the counter. He took his time putting it on, staring at her as he did.

“Did you really come here for a drink last night, Liz?” He asked, hands resting on her knees.

“You want to talk about this _now_?” Liz asked, incredulous.

“I want to know,” he said. “Were you here for a drink, or were you just too shy to tell me that you wanted my dick?”

Her only response was a high-pitched whine, hips coming off the bed as she pushed herself toward him.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I wanted you to fuck my brains out,” she said, voice breathy and eyes closed.

He pushed himself deep inside her with one stroke, because she was _so fucking wet_ , letting out the anticipatory breath he’d been holding at the back of his mouth. “Like this?”

Her eyes fluttered open, “Harder,” she told him, heels digging into the backs of his calves. “I want to feel your cock inside me for days, every time I move. You have no fucking idea how hot that gets me.”

Michael swallowed at the thought of Liz clenching tight around the warm, sweet ache between her thighs, wetness soaking straight through her panties as she interviewed for the Stanford job. He hooked his arms under her knees and put her legs over his shoulders, thrusting hard and deep into her as he did. Her eyebrows went up and her mouth opened in a vulnerable, slightly pained expression.

“Sorry,” Michael panted, sweat gathering at the nape of his neck and on his lower back. “Is this okay?”

Liz grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed. Michael hissed as her nails dug into his skin. “I’m gonna need you to stop apologizing and fuck me like you mean it, cowboy,” she told him.

So he did. Her nails raked over his back as she whispered encouragements and endearments, then shouted as her pussy tightened and clenched around him. And _fuck_ , he liked making her come, loved to watch her shake and shout and lose control.

It didn’t take long for him after that; he shut his eyes and bit her shoulder as he came, pleasure rippling out from the base of his spine. He didn’t know how long it was before he finally opened his eyes, limp and drenched in sweat.

“You’re on my hair,” Liz told him, smiling at him as the soft edges of his vision came back into focus.

He pulled out and rolled off of her, wondering if she’d jump out of bed and start dressing immediately, efficient and slightly ashamed, the way Alex used to.

Instead, she tucked herself against his side, draping her arm and leg over him, apparently not ready to move yet. The touch sent a pleasurable shudder through his entire body, hyperaware of every point of contact between them. He almost fell asleep, warm and sated in her arms. He only snapped back to full consciousness when she spoke.

“I should probably go,” she said, though she made no move to leave.

“Mm, not yet,” he said, tightening his arm around her. “Five more minutes.”

“You’re a bad influence,” she said, cheek resting against his pectoral muscle, right over his heart.

“You like it,” he said, still feigning drowsiness with his eyes half-closed. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

She murmured something, too soft for him to hear, nuzzling sweetly against his neck.

He pulled back a little, just enough to make eye contact with her across the pillow. “Can I ask you something, Liz?”

She inclined her head.

“Why…this? Why now?”

“When I kissed you last night,” she said, “that was the first time since Max died that I felt anything other than miserable.” She touched his face, gently. “I guess I came back because I wanted to feel not-miserable again. Why do you ask? Are you unhappy that this happened?”

“Of course not,” Michael murmured, tracing a fingertip down her sternum, through the sweat between her breasts, making her blush. “Jesus, Liz, I was hard when I woke up, because I spent all of last night dreaming about you. I just wondered…why me?”

“Because you’re the only man in this town who I was sure could do it well,” Liz admitted.

Michael resisted the urge to preen. “Cowboys at the Wild Pony can’t give you what you need?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Liz said. “Never fucked any of them.”

“I have,” Michael said, resettling himself with a sigh. “And believe me when I tell you that you’re not missing much.” 

Michael had gone through multiple slutty phases in his life, starting when he was eighteen, right after Alex left. A few of the drunken cowboys and roughnecks were nice enough when they fucked him. More often than not, they were possessive, cruel, ugly and stupid. Not all of them had been from the Pony either. A few of them, he’d met under the halogen lights of a truck stop. His stomach constricted at the memory of one particular middle-aged long-haul driver whose idea of foreplay was spitting in his palm as he shoved Michael face-first into a cinderblock wall. It scared him to think that Liz’s heartache might drive her to do the same risky, stupid shit that he used to.

“I never told Max I loved him,” Liz said, pulling Michael out of his memories.

“Me neither,” Michael said. “I know it’s not exactly the same, but….”

“But,” She said, like she was agreeing with him. “How do we live with that?”

“I think we just do,” Michael said, feeling empty.

“Just like that?”

Michael shrugged. “The only other option is dying of a broken heart, and if that were actually possible, you and I would both be six feet under by now.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Just extricated herself from his embrace and started dressing herself. Michael felt bereft. He hadn’t meant to leave things this way.

“You can stay for breakfast if you want,” he told her.

“You don’t have a stove,” she pointed out.

“I have a hot plate,” he said. “And a stovetop coffee maker. What else do you need? Don’t answer that,” he added as Liz opened her mouth.

“Shit, you really did a number on this skirt,” Liz said, plucking it off the floor and poking a finger through the popped seam next to the zipper.

“Sorry,” Michael said, sitting halfway up and ducking his head.

“Don’t be,” Liz said with a cute, shy half-smile. “I liked it. And I was gonna have to go home to fix my hair and makeup anyway. And my interview isn’t until 11.”

Interview. Right. “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he told her, before he could lose his nerve. “In California, or wherever you end up. And I’m really happy that Rosa’s alive.”

“Me too,” Liz said. “I’ll never stop being happy that she’s alive. I just wish I could have one more minute with Max, so I could tell him how much I love him. And that I forgive him.”

Michael nodded. He’d spent a lot of time wishing for one last conversation with Max, although it would’ve taken a lot longer than one minute to say everything he needed to say. 

“I don’t know if this is any consolation,” Michael said. “Max spent the last ten years trying to atone for the horrible thing we did to your family. He would’ve done anything to make it right. But even more than that, he wanted you to be happy. Even if he wasn’t here to see it.”

“I don’t think I can promise to be happy,” Liz said. “But I promise to try, for his sake. Will you?”

The side of Michael’s mouth quirked up in a wistful half-smile. He stood, pulling his jeans on. “I’ll try.”

He was about to move past Liz to get to his room-temperature cup of coffee when she stopped him with a hand on his chest. “You deserve to be happy, Michael,” she told him. “And you deserve to be loved. I know you’ve never really believed that, but it’s true.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Just pulled her close and closed his eyes as they held each other, maybe for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I was mostly being silly when I started writing Michael/Liz, but now I'm kind of into it. So. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
